A never-ending war...

I hadn’t really slept in days. You know the kind of sleep where your eyes close but your heart stays wide awake? That was me — too tired to move, too restless to rest. It had been long since I had a peaceful sleep...

The morning light was barely a whisper through the curtains when the phone rang. The landline. Who even calls the landline anymore?

I answered it. 

" Hello?" 

A pause. Then a voice I didn’t recognize. It was rough yet... very gentle...

" Are you okay?" 

Just three words but it they hit like a wave. It had been ages since anyone had asked me that... 

I stayed silent.

Then came something deep down inside I didn't want to listen... 

" Manjiri... Are you okay?" 

Manjiri.
Those words shattered something within me. Of course those weren't for me. 

I cleared my throat.
" No I think you've the wrong number... It's Harshali... Harshali Joshi..." 

The stranger hesitated.

"Oh—I’m sorry. I thought… you just sounded familiar.”

I told him it was okay. 

He said that I sounded tired. And I didn’t deny it. "It's been a few long weeks" I murmured.

He agreed, " Yah things are heavier than usual".

And then something inside me cracked open — maybe because I thought I was talking to a stranger... Or something else which I wasn't able to name... 

"It’s like we’re all just trying to keep up — with something we can’t even name," I said

"Life moves too fast, and we run behind it, trying not to fall apart. We care too much, expect too little, and somehow even that feels like a mistake. And when we finally catch our breath… everything falls apart again.”

I stopped, realizing I had said too much.

"I—I’m sorry," I added, embarrassed.
"I didn’t mean to unload."

He replied, "No need to apologise. I understand. With the war going on and everything… it’s only human."

That made me pause.
" War? " I asked.

He spoke calmly, like it was the most obvious thing.
"Yeah… the world’s barely holding together. Explosions, rationing, newspapers filled with loss. People are trying to stay strong but… everyone’s scared."

I felt a chill down my spine.

"What war are you talking about?"

"The World War, of course," he said. "It’s 1942."

I sat upright, heart thudding.
"It’s 2025 "

There was a long silence on the other end.

He whispered, "I… don’t understand."

I said, "Neither do I. Maybe we’re not meant to."

A quiet calm settled over us. Two people. Two eras. Connected by something beyond reason.

Then he asked, with a hint of wonder:
"Things must be better in your time, huh?"

I let out a soft, tired laugh.
"Not really."
I looked around at the emptiness, the unopened emails, the numbed heart.
"There’s no world war here. No bombs, no air raids."

I paused for a second. 

"But everyone’s still fighting."
I paused again. Let it settle in me before I said it aloud.
"Not a physical war… but here, everyone has their own war — one they’re trying so hard to win."

Maybe some calls are never meant to make sense. Maybe some conversations don’t belong to time at all. But that morning, for a brief, impossible moment, I wasn’t alone.

And maybe, somewhere across the echoes of time, neither was he.